


Christmas Sweaters

by timeespaceandpixiedust



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeespaceandpixiedust/pseuds/timeespaceandpixiedust
Summary: Christmas hasn't been the same since Clarke's dad died. Lexa tries to do a little something to help.Happy first day of Clexmas!





	Christmas Sweaters

The fire begins to sizzle out long before Clarke, her mom, and Kane finish opening presents. Her dad had always been the one in charge of keeping the fire going. He’d stoke it just right to get the flames back to life before smiling wide and declaring himself “Boy Scout of the year” proudly. Everyone would groan; it was a whole bit.

 

Last year had been the first Christmas without him, Clarke assumed that meant it would be the hardest. Turns out the second hadn’t gotten any easier.

 

The first year was easier maybe because there was a sense of unity, everyone was mourning together, everyone experiencing their first year without Jake Griffin cracking dumb jokes and wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater he could find. It used to be their thing, Clarke and him, go out shopping a week or so before Christmas and find the most atrocious, holiday themed sweaters of all. One year he had even convinced her that they should make their own. 

 

It became their tradition, just the two of them. It turned into one of Clarke’s favorite thing about the holidays (not that she’d ever tell him that). Now that it was gone...it just felt like one more thing to miss.

 

Now people were moving on, though. People, that is, except for Clarke. With her mom more than a year into a new relationship and her friends no longer focused on the first year concept, Clarke was starting to feel like an island. Her paternal grandparents had been dead for years; her aunt had called and talked to Clarke last night, her kids screaming in the background.

 

There was nothing worse than grief to leave you feeling left behind. 

 

Now that Clarke could blame her friends too much for kind of just...forgetting. She almost never talked about him, not if she could help it. Besides, Octavia and Bellamy hardly ever saw their dad; Raven didn’t even know who hers was, Jasper’s relationship was strained at best. No one got what it was like to lose a parent who was also a best friend; no one could even imagine it. 

 

“You alright, baby?” Abby asks, sitting beside Clarke with her apron still on, flour in her hair, a smile still tucked away. Clarke was happy for her mom, really. Sure, it was hard seeing her move on, but it was deserved.

 

Clarke does her best to muster up a smile, lips pressed up into the best form of joy she can muster. “I’m good.” Maybe grief is lonely only when one isolates themselves. Clarke had spent quite the year isolating herself.

 

Of course, her mom doesn’t buy it. She fixes Clarke with a knowing look and has just opened her mouth, no doubt to call Clarke out, when from the kitchen they hear a, “Uhh, Abby, you might want to come check on this.”

 

Her mom’s eyes glance nervously to the kitchen before falling back on Clarke. “I’ll be right back,” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of Clarke’s head as she goes. “I know your sad, sweetie. Just know he wouldn’t want that for you. Especially not today.”

 

She knows that. It doesn’t make the sadness go away, though.

 

Her phone buzzes then, a single rumble against her thigh before stopping. A second later, another. After two more Clarke decides to get out of her own head and look at her damn phone. 

 

It’s Lexa. Just the sight of her name makes Clarke smile. Lexa had been the bright spot in the last few years, the gentle light nudging its way through all of the darkness.

 

The first week back to classes Clarke had been a wreck. Sobbing in psychology, tearing up in marine biology. It had been when she excused herself from her Eastern European government class that Lexa followed after her. She kept her distance but was essentially escorting Clarke right into the girl’s bathroom. Clarke had turned to say something, she had no memory now of what it was going to be, but instead the second she opened her mouth she just started blubbering. Hot, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and hiccups forced their way out of her body. 

 

Even though they most they knew one another existed around their debate of communism and Poland last class, Lexa opened her arms and Clarke gladly fell into them. Lexa ran a hand along Clarke’s back and let her cry it out as long as she needed. They both missed the rest of class. 

 

When she’d finally pulled herself together to some extent, Clarke apologized, offering a reasoning even though Lexa didn’t ask for one.

 

Lexa’s face fell immediately, and she wrapped a hand around Clarke’s shoulder. “My dad died when I was ten,” she offers, giving this brief little smile before pulling her hand away. “It sucks.”

 

Clarke wanted to ask her then when it got better, but couldn’t bring herself to. Instead, she nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. This was suckier than the time she found out her boyfriend Finn was cheating on her, suckier than when she broke her wrist right before summer, suckier than when she got rejected from her dream college. She wished she could take all that suck and live through it again all in one go if it just meant she could have her dad back. 

 

From there, she and Lexa became tentative friends. The next class, Clarke finds a cup of hot tea sitting on her desk, waiting for her. She goes to toss it, assuming it was from the previous student, but it’s a full cup, almost scalding hot to the touch. She catches Lexa looking at her for a minute before turning away the second their eyes meet.

 

Next Clarke is asking for help with understanding just what the hell the Czech Republic was doing in government in the ‘90s and Lexa explains in extreme detail as they walk across campus. Before they part ways, Lexa offers her phone number. Just in case Clarke had any other questions.

 

Clarke didn’t, but she came up with some anyway. 

 

Lexa always answered.

 

From there they were friends, growing closer every day. Lexa made a lot of bad jokes, the kind that made Clarke almost squirt soda out her nose. Lexa was a lot of hard edges, Clarke learned after that bathroom interaction. Lexa was blunt and straight faced and occasionally dismissive. When they were together, though, Lexa seemed to soften. She was kind and soft and a little extra sweet towards Clarke. 

 

It made Clarke feel warmer. It made her feel less alone.

 

Two years later and they were as close as friends got. Sometimes, Clarke wondered, if they were perhaps a little closer than friends got. Snuggling in bed to watch a movie, arms wrapped around each  other when walking across campus, so familiar with each other they’d started picking up one another’s mannerisms, little sayings too. Everyone thought they were together. Hell, even Clarke’s professor had assumed they were an item. Raven and Octavia had some sort of bet going as to when the two of them would end up together. 

 

It became a running joke, something that Clarke rolled her eyes at and Lexa giggled about. Because they were really just friends. But it was moments like these when Clarke feels utterly alone on Christmas, and a rush of happiness and a touch of anxiety goes coursing through her at seeing Lexa’s name light up her screen; those were the moments when she wondered if maybe they really were something more.

 

**Lexa:** SOS, my mom’s drunk already. Granny is NOT amused

 

**Lexa:** This is the driest turkey I have eaten in my entire life. Who let Aunt Indra cook?

 

**Lexa:** I don’t think we ever actually wished each other Merry Christmas!

 

**Lexa:** So, you know, Merry Christmas

 

**Lexa:** Are you doing okay? I know today isn’t the best for you. 

 

**Lexa:** I miss you, Clarke.

 

That’s the one that makes Clarke smile brightest, even if there is a simultaneous collection of tears in the back of her eyes. In the grand scheme of college friends, they weren’t that far apart. Maybe an hour or so of distance between them. But it was Christmas, and they were just friends. No family was going to be understanding if one of them skipped out to join their bestie at Christmas, that wasn’t a normal friend thing to do. But still, Clarke’s heart aches for a moment in missing Lexa, momentarily reprieved of the sensation of loss in missing her dad.

 

Kane steps through the threshold, another one of those things Clarke was adjusting to. A man who was not her father living in her house, walking through the doorways he once walked through, sitting in chairs he once sat in. 

 

He made her mom happy, though. So Clarke did her best to move past it. 

 

“Your mom sent me,” he says, hand on the back of his neck, apron untied behind his waist. “Something about not trusting me in the kitchen.” He shrugs, sitting on the couch across from Clarke and stretching his feet out beneath the tree branches. Something catches his attention, and he reaches under, resurfacing with a lumpy package. He holds it out towards Clarke. “It’s addressed to you.”

 

She raises an eyebrow, confused. Her mom did  _ not  _ wrap gifts like that. She takes the present, it’s soft and malleable in her hands, and holds it for a moment. The name tag has her name written clear as day. There’s no indication of who it’s from, though.

 

With a shrug she rips the uneven paper off, letting it fall right to the floor just like when she was a kid. It collects like confetti at her feet until she’s left with this soft, colorful fabric balled up in her hands. She holds it up, this red and green monstrosity covered in cotton balls and paint. It was the goddamn ugliest Christmas sweater Clarke had ever seen in her life. 

 

Unable to help herself, she just starts sobbing. Comedic, loud, miserable sobs. 

 

Kane panics, jumping to his feet, patting her shoulder. “I’m sure we can...exchange it?” and then he desperately calls for her mother.

 

Abby comes skidding into the living room, hopping over the ottoman and stopping just before Clarke, a look of horror on her face. “What’s wrong? Sweetie, are you okay?”

 

She’s a pile of sniffles as she swipes under her nose, a big, fat tear rolling down her cheek. “Where did you  _ get  _ this?” Clarke asks, knowing this hadn’t been one of the gifts she had brought home from her friends. Lexa had given her the new, fancy paint brush set Clarke had been eyeing forever, Octavia had gifted this pretty eyeshadow palette, and Raven had fixed up Clarke’s car about ten times in the last two months alone. 

 

“Oh!” her mom puts it together a moment later, looking to the paper around Clarke. “It was the strangest thing. Just showed up one day, no return address or anything. It had your name on it, so I shoved it under the tree.” She squeezes herself on the side of the armchair; thigh pressed to Clarke’s. “What is it?” Her mouth forms a small ‘o’ when she looks to what Clarke is holding, in all its ugly glory. She presses a kiss to Clarke’s cheek, letting her daughter’s head fall to her shoulder. 

 

“It’s hideous,” Clarke laughs, all snotty and tear filled. 

 

“Your father would be very proud,” Abby says back, squeezing her daughter gently. “You should put it on.”

 

Again, Clarke looks to it, eyebrows furrowing. “You really don’t know who it came from?”

 

“Not a clue.”

 

////

 

In true Christmas fashion, snow starts to fall a little after dinner. It’s slow but steady and, as Clarke watches it out the window, it begins to cover the lawns and sidewalks, next the trees, and finally even a light dusting on the road.

 

Unable to help herself, Clarke checks her phone all through dinner. She told Lexa about the sweater, even sent a picture of her in it while making this ridiculous face. 

 

It had been radio silence for almost an hour now, though. Which, was probably fair on Christmas day, amidst all the festivities and visitors. Lexa had been listing off a whole collection of people who would be coming to her house. It was quite the event especially in comparison with Clarke’s quaint little gathering.

 

They eat, ham and homemade mashed potatoes and stuffing with the cranberries in it, just how her dad liked it best. Kane does most of the talking. Clarke’s got this happy sort of sadness swelling in her, and her mom is watching her for most of the meal, assessing. 

 

When the doorbell rings, Clarke’s head shoots up, giving her mom a questioning look. “Were we expecting someone?”

 

“Unless your grandmother flew back from Cancun early, I can’t think of anyone.”

 

She’s closest to the front door, so Clarke scrapes her chair along the floor, letting her fork ring out against her plate as she drops it. Taking a few steps forward she switches on the porch light, trying to peer out the side window but catching a glance of nothing more than a red coat.

 

When she swings open the door, she feels her eyes widen in surprise. “Lexa?!” she demands, unable to help the way her face breaks out into a grin, so happy to see the person she needed most. “What are you-”

 

Lexa unbuttons her bright red coat with puffy snowflakes fall around her, white gloved fingers making work quickly, she holds it open as she says, “You can’t be expected to carry on a tradition on your own,” as she proudly displays her own horrendously ugly Christmas sweater. 

 

These last couple of years Clarke has fallen into this emotion that means she’s always half a step away from crying. Lexa was not afraid to give her a push in that direction sometimes. She presses a hand over her mouth, some attempt at covering the broken, soundless sobs that are starting, that Lexa has seen so many times before. 

 

Then she throws her arms around her very best friend, cheek nuzzling into the slightly cold, bare skin of Lexa’s neck. “Thank you,” Clarke whispers to her, arms like a vice. 

 

“You’re not allowed to be sad on Christmas,” Lexa whispers back, hands tangling in Clarke’s hair, face turning until she’s kissing Clarke’s cheek. “And you’re certainly not allowed to wear an ugly sweater alone.”

 

When Clarke pulls away, not for the first time today, she’s sniffling, tears about ready to freeze to her cheeks. “You’re just-I can’t even-because you,” she’s tripping over her words, unable to get ahold of herself. “I love you,” she finally blurts out, the sort of definitive declaration that isn’t meant to come in a rush on your mother’s front porch, with the door halfway open and the freezing wind blowing around you. 

 

Lexa freezes for a moment before thawing out before Clarke’s eyes. First with a smile, then with gentle hands, finally with another kiss pressed to Clarke’s cheek. “I love you too,” she says. More quiet, less rushed, that was Lexa. Thoughtful, meaning the words she says to their core.

 

“No, not like-like friends,” Clarke feels the need to clarify. It has never been more important in her entire life that Lexa understands than it is right now. “I mean of course I love you like a friend, but I mean it in a different way. I mean-”

 

Lexa takes Clarke’s face between her hands, effectively silencing her. She holds her stare as she says, “I love you too.”

 

“Oh,” Clarke knows that Lexa has grasped exactly what Clarke was saying. “Good. Otherwise, this might be weird.” She kisses her with all she has. Every ounce of fought back desire, every memory of lips pressed together, away from Lexa, hands shoved beneath her thighs to keep from reaching out. She lets it all loose on her mom’s front porch.

 

Lexa returns with equal fervor, standing on tiptoes to match the inch or so Clarke had on her. Just like everything else with Lexa, she softens as soon as Clarke is touching her. Soft, open mouth, warming, wandering hands, gentle and passionate, never aggressive. 

 

Clarke’s whispering “oh my god” to herself as they pull away. Because this was happening and because it was already amazing. “Lexa-”

 

She smiles, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to Clarke’s lips to shut her up. “Merry Christmas, Griffin. Now are you going to invite me inside or what? I’m freezing to death.”

 

Clarke opens the door wide, letting the rush of warm air greet them both and allowing Lexa to step over the threshold. Her heart is full, heavy in a new way as she watches Lexa take off her coat, ugly sweater of her own proudly displayed, her mom pulling her in for a hug. Christmas was never going to be the same. But maybe, she thinks, maybe different doesn’t have to mean bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading! I hope you enjoy. I probably won't do every day, especially over the weekend, but I'm going to try my best. Let me know what you think :)


End file.
